


Just a Little Bit Touched

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Get Together fic (kinda), M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Podfic Welcome, Sex Tape (sorta), Shane "Big Dick" Madej, Shyan Scavenger Hunt, Voyeurism, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: “Oh ho ho,” Shane drawls. “Did you leavepornopen on your laptop, Ryan?"





	Just a Little Bit Touched

**Author's Note:**

> it's a new month, which means new shyan scavenger hunt prompts! this fulfills the prompt 'voyeurism.' just a random little idea that struck me and broke me out of a couple day funk. 
> 
> big thanks to hannah for beta'ing, as always! 
> 
> enjoy!

It’s an accident.

Really.

On top of that, it’s all Shane’s fault.

Seriously.

 _Shane_ is the one who takes the camera home and doesn’t take it off. _Shane_ is the one who barely gets in his apartment before stumbling over to his couch. _Shane_ is the one who gets a hand down his pants faster than you could say “Ryan Bergara never intended to watch his best friend jerk off and yet here we are.”

It’s not Ryan’s fault, okay? Okay.

 

 

Ryan’s got his headphones on, laptop in his lap, and a large cup of tea beside him. He’s in the zone. He’s ready to edit, finally, after a funk had him reluctant to even look at a camera, let alone the film from their latest shoot. But here he is, caffeinated and ready to rock. It’s an easy rhythm to lose himself in, familiar and soothing even when it’s sort of frustrating. The hours speed by as he cuts and crops and coordinates all the clips he needs. He’s not putting them into an actual order yet but he knows what scenes he wants to use.

Two and a half hours pass and Ryan only looks up when his stomach growls. He looks around his empty apartment as he pulls off his headphones and realizes it’s finally dark outside. He laughs to himself for a second, then sets his laptop aside; this is what he gets for taking his work home. Shane’s not around to reign him in or pull him out of the zone, which Ryan can admit he sometimes needs.

Ryan stands and stretches before reaching for his phone. He scratches at his stomach with one hand and places an Uber Eats order with the other; he fucks around on his phone as he ambles to his bathroom to take a quick leak, sets it aside only to wash his hands. By the time he wanders back into his living room, his order is being processed and he’s feeling a little more energized. He’s still got about a half hour of film to sift through, and he’s pretty sure he can get through it before his food arrives.

“Might as well,” he mutters to himself as he falls back onto his couch. He tosses his phone onto the cushion beside him and pulls his laptop back onto his legs. He opens the last video file and slips his headphones on again. He grabs his notebook, already full to the brim with notes about organization and flow, and readies his pen in his hand before tapping the spacebar.

Immediately, he knows something is up.

He can tell from the angle that it’s Shane’s chest camera; that, and the shot of chinos sitting high on bony ankles, when Shane looks down at his slightly scuffed shoes. Ryan blinks owlishly at the screen. Judging from the surroundings, the film isn’t from the location they were at—it’s not nearly dark or decrepit enough. Not that it’s bright, either, but it looks more like… Like the walkway up to Shane’s apartment building.

Sure enough, when Shane looks up again, there’s the familiar front door that’ll lead into a hallway, to an elevator, up a couple floors to Shane’s apartment. Ryan watches through the shaking camera lens as Shane travels the exact path Ryan predicted; Ryan watches Shane fumble with his keys and slip into his apartment. Shane kicks the door shut with a _thud_ and then he’s staggering across his living room.

There’s the sound of rustling clothes and the muffled sound of them hitting the floor. When Shane’s arm passes in front of the camera, while he checks his phone, Ryan notes that his denim jacket is gone. Shane stumbles until he hits his couch. His phone falls to the floor as he falls onto the couch. He leans his back against one arm and stretches his legs out in front of him. At some point he toed off his socks and shoes and the angle of the camera makes him look even taller and longer than he actually is.

Ryan only spares a split-second thought for how tall or long Shane is—because it’s impossible to miss how the camera focuses perfectly on the sizeable bulge pressing at the front of Shane’s chinos. Ryan isn’t sure how Shane hasn’t noticed the camera is still on, or how Ryan didn’t notice Shane leaving with the camera in the first place, but, well. Ryan can’t look away.

The bulge is intimidating. Ryan’s breathing comes to him in rapid, dizzying bursts; he can’t help but think of how it’s sort of hilarious, the contrast of Shane’s dick busting against the zipper of soft pink pants. It’s aesthetically pleasing if nothing else. Ryan licks his lips.

Shane lets out a shuddering sigh that the camera picks up easily, even though Shane probably isn’t mic’d. His hand creeps into screen again, devoid of his phone, and his long, spindly fingers go straight for the button and zipper.

Ryan gasps softly, but he still can’t make himself stop watching. Shane flicks open the button with his thumb, draws down the zipper almost torturously slow. As the pink flaps of his chinos fall away they reveal his dick, plain and simple. Peachy flush skin and dark pubes; for a hilarious split second, Ryan thinks he might keel over at the sight.

“Commando, really?” Ryan hisses. His gaze is trained on every twitch of Shane’s dick as he draws it out of his jeans.

Shane grunts a little as he shimmies his pants down his legs. Ryan can just barely see his sac between his thighs and Ryan has to swallow, or else he’s going to drool. Faintly, he’s embarrassed—not only to be watching his best friend play with himself on candid camera, but also to be _so_ affected by it. He’s not ashamed of his attraction to men, or even his attraction to Shane. But this? This visceral, bone-deep lust that settles over him at the sight of nothing but Shane’s erect cock? _That’s_ a little embarrassing.

“C’mon,” Ryan whines softly as Shane grazes his hand over his dick down to his thighs. He dances his fingertips over the dusting of hair before trailing his touch to his balls and fondling them. He takes his time rolling them between his fingers, his touch gentle, and Ryan starts to squirm.

When Shane finally curls a hand around his cock, Ryan whines again. His own dick is hard in his sweatpants but touching himself would require moving the laptop and Ryan just can’t manage that right now. He’s too entranced. He doesn’t want to miss a second, especially not as Shane starts to stroke all—Christ, that must be at least seven, maybe _eight_ inches. Ryan’s mouth wells with drool and he swallows reflexively. He’s never considered himself a snob about size or anything, but he might have to reevaluate.

Ryan presses pause just as Shane lets out a low moan. His face is burning and his thoughts are swimming. If someone asked him, in this very moment, his name or the year or who the president is, he wouldn’t be able to answer any of those. He probably wouldn’t be able to say anything at all.

He looks at the screen again and can’t help but stare at the way light gleams off the bead of precome at the tip of Shane’s dick.

“Oh, Jesus,” Ryan sighs. He presses his hands against the couch cushion and tries to regulate his breathing. “Am I really doing this?” He asks his empty apartment. He laughs a little hysterically. Really, he reasons with himself, he doesn’t _have_ to do this. He can delete the file, close his laptop, and move on with his life without ever knowing the way Shane’s cock twitches when he grips it just _so_.

Right? He could do that. He could live that life. Ryan _should_ live that life. It would be the responsible thing to do. It would be the _good-best-friend_ thing to do.

Ryan sighs. He settles against his couch and takes a deep breath before tapping the spacebar, letting the sounds of Shane’s pleasure surround him. He feels creepy, hunched over his laptop like this, like some porn-hoarding Gollum, or something. But the feeling melts away as Shane starts to stroke himself and Ryan loses himself in watching.

Shane strokes himself dry and Ryan wonders if that’s how he always likes it or if it’s just a matter of he couldn’t fucking wait. Couldn’t even wait to take off the camera off, _Jesus fucking Christ_. Ryan tilts his head back and sighs in exasperation.

Ryan bites his lip as Shane cups the head of his dick and gathers precome against his palm. He strokes again and goes slow. Is he teasing himself? Or is he just _like that_? Ryan suddenly aches with the desire to know.

 _“Oh, fuck,”_ Shane murmurs as he grips the base and squeezes. Another drop of precome blooms and dribbles down Shane’s dick until it meets his fingers. _“Yes.”_ He leaks, Ryan notes. Shane leaks a lot, and it’s _hot_ , especially as each drip spills down the frankly absurd length of Shane’s prick.

Ryan moans softly. His cock is hard and he can feel the wet spot forming at the front of his sweats. He bites his lip again to curtail the urge to shove his hand into his pants and stroke himself off in time to Shane’s rhythm. That would make it weird, he thinks. Not that it’s not already weird but touching himself would cross a line. That’s what he tells himself.

Shane’s pretty quiet as he jerks off. He moans quietly and grunts like it’s punched out of him unexpectedly. He hisses little words, fragments of sentences and bitten-off swears. Ryan can’t get enough; he wishes Shane still had a mic on so every sound would be amplified and clearer. As it is, he settles for what he can make out over the crude sound of skin on skin.

Ryan’s biting his lip hard enough to bleed when the unthinkable happens.

 _“Fuck,_ Ryan _.”_ Sharp, breathy, desperate.

Ryan moans obscenely loud as his cock twitches in his sweatpants. He watches with wide eyes as Shane’s hand speeds up. His hips are jumping as he humps into his fist and his breathing is heavy over the camera’s audio. He flexes: he grips tighter toward the head and loosens at the base and soon his hand is barely clenched, nothing more than a hole for his dick to fuck into.

Ryan can distantly hear himself moaning but it’s nothing compared to Shane in his ears now. He was quiet before but now he’s unabashed and downright slutty and every other gasp is some garbled form of Ryan’s name. It’s heady and goes straight to Ryan’s dick as much as his ego.

Shane must be close, Ryan thinks, when he loses rhythm completely. He thinks he can hear Shane’s couch squeaking from the force of his thrusts and Ryan’s face burns. There’s no way Shane’s neighbors can’t hear him, and _how_ can he just not care? Ryan’s conditioned himself to be quiet when he jerks off. There’s no one to impress, why should he put the effort into it? But Shane… Shane clearly has a different philosophy.

Ryan’s so caught up in it he almost misses it when four heavy knocks ring out in his apartment. It’s only the last one that catches his attention and Ryan practically throws his laptop aside and scrambles to stand. He gets caught when his headphones tangle around his neck because the cord is still attached to his computer. He throws those off too and trips his way over to his door.

He doesn’t even look through the peephole before answering; he doesn’t open it all the way, just enough to peer around the edge and hide his straining erection behind the door. He’s expecting his Uber Eats delivery guy to be on the other side of the door, holding a bag of way too much McDonalds.

He’s wrong. So very, very wrong.

“Hey, man,” Shane says. He’s in well-worn khakis and a blue button down, casual and comfortable and looking good. Ryan gulps uneasily, and Shane’s expression shifts to one of concern. “You okay? You look kinda… peaky.”

“Peaky?” Ryan echoes.

“Yeah. You’re all flushed and sweaty.”

Ryan swallows. “Uh. Yeah. Think I’m coming down with something.”

“Gross,” Shane says as he thrusts a hand forward, fingers clutched around a McDonalds bag. “Intercepted this on my way up.”

“Dude,” Ryan chides. “Not cool.” He barely hears what he’s saying. His mind is a blur of panic and horniness.

Shane shrugs. “Up for an impromptu movie night?”

Ryan blinks back at him. “Uh.”

“You don’t have to. I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d swing by. I tried texting you but you didn’t answer.”

Ryan looks back over his shoulder to his phone. It’s still on the couch cushion, face-down. He probably missed it going off while he watched… Watched Shane jerk off, while moaning his name, and fucking his fist like—like—

“Ryan?”

“Uh, yeah, c’mon in.”

“You sure? If you’re sick, I can go.” Shane steps forward hesitantly, and Ryan knows he could turn him away. He could take the out, claim the flu has him too tired, and then figure out what the fuck to do about that video on his computer.

“No, no, it’s cool.” Ryan motions for Shane to come inside and opens the door a little wider. “Nothing some McDonalds and shitty horror movies can’t fix.”

Shane nods and steps in as Ryan steps back. The door falls shut behind him and Ryan gestures first vaguely to the sofa then says, “Wait, shit, no, wait.”

Shane freezes halfway to the couch. “Okay?”

“Uh, sorry. Left something open on my laptop.” And then Ryan cringes, because he shouldn’t have said that. He watches a devilish grin spread over Shane’s face as he continues his path to Ryan’s couch. “Shane—!”

“Oh ho ho,” Shane drawls. “Did you leave _porn_ open on your laptop, Ryan? Were you—?” Whatever he was about to say trails off as he gets a look at the screen. “Oh.”

Ryan wishes, deeply and passionately, for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. If the supernatural forces of the universe could do him just this one solid, he could die happy. Sure, he’d probably die in some endless void, but hey, at least he wouldn’t have to face _this_ fucking conversation.

He stares at the ceiling and counts the seconds as they pass. When two minutes pass without Shane speaking or the floor opening up beneath Ryan, he caves and looks back at his friend.

Shane is no longer peering at his computer and is instead standing up straight. “Well?”

Ryan grits his teeth. “Well, what? _You’re_ the one who left the fucking camera on, like an idiot.” He tries to will his blush away but knows he doesn’t succeed. His face is warm enough he feels faint.

“Yep,” Shane agrees. His expression never falters. “ _You’re_ the one who almost watched it all the way to the end.”

“What?”

“You didn’t finish it yet, right?”

“No!”

Shane gestures to his laptop. “Finish it.” He drops Ryan’s bag of McDonalds on the coffee table and walks back. He leans against the wall in a spot that gives him a perfect vantage point to stare at Ryan’s couch where Ryan was sitting only a few minutes prior.

“What?” Ryan asks.

“Finish the video.” Shane crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head in a challenge.

“Fine!” Ryan pointedly ignores how his voice shakes as he hurries back to his couch. He sits slowly and angles his laptop toward himself again. He looks up at Shane, who nods.

“Unplug your headphones,” Shane commands.

Ryan obeys with a shaking hand even though he knows the audio from the video is going to be impossibly loud. His finger hovers over the spacebar until Shane clears his throat. Then, Ryan smashes into the spacebar hard enough to hurt the tip of his finger.

Immediately, the wanton sounds start again. Shane moaning and groaning and skin slapping on skin fills the living room. Ryan’s face lights up in a burning blush again and his gaze flicks to Shane.

“Eyes on the video,” Shane says softly. His smirk widens and his eyes are dark and heavy, trained on Ryan.

Ryan watches the video and all the while he’s painfully aware of his cock. It had retreated to a half-chub but now returns to full-mast almost hilariously fast. It’s the sounds, and the visuals, and the fact Shane is _here_ , watching him. It’s some sort of fucked up feedback loop: Shane watching Ryan watching Shane.

Shane’s moans increase in fervor and pitch and Ryan couldn’t look away if he wanted to. He _really_ doesn’t want to. On the screen, Shane thrusts sloppily into his fist and lets out a guttural sound that sounds vaguely like Ryan’s name yet again, and then Shane’s coming. His dick, which looks huge even in Shane’s bizarrely large hands, spits out come in long white streaks over his fingers and stomach.

Ryan keens pitifully under his breath as he watches Shane milk every last ounce of come from his cock. He wants to look away but Shane told him to finish the video, and he gets the vague idea that something _good_ will happen if he listens. So he keeps his eyes trained on his laptop even as his cock begs for attention and even as his fight or flight instinct is screaming at him to fucking _flee_.

Shane, in the video, lets go of his come-sticky cock with a laugh. A faintly pleased sigh rings out, then the camera moves. He’s clearly shifting it with his clean hand and before long, Shane’s weirdly attractive face fills the screen. He’s pink and sweaty, much like Ryan feels right now, but he’s sporting the same smirk that Shane wears across from Ryan this very moment.

“So,” Shane drawls, voice sounding tinny over the laptop. “Hope you enjoyed that, Ryan. Just for you.” He waves his fingers, light glinting off the come in a way that’s kind of gross but bizarrely hot. “We should probably talk about this but I hope you had fun, at least.” A glimmer of insecurity rushes over Shane’s expression before it’s replaced with a wink and another smirk. “See ya!”

And then it ends. Ryan cuts off the video before it can start over and pushes his laptop aside. He looks up just as Shane starts to walk toward him, and Ryan leans back as Shane looms over him.

“So,” Shane says, here and now.

“So,” Ryan echoes. “For me, huh?”

Shane grins. The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “Just for you, baby.”

Ryan’s blush worsens. “I didn’t even come.”

Shane _tsk_ s softly. “Guess that’s my fault, huh? Some shitty timing on my part. Didn’t know you’d be editing tonight.”

Ryan wants to ask a million things. Why now? Why couldn’t Shane just _say_ something? What if Ryan had chosen to edit these clips at work? What the _actual_ fuck?

Ryan doesn’t ask any of these things. He practically melts into the couch and spreads his legs. He’s keenly aware of how his cock tents his sweats and how Shane’s eyes go straight to it. Shane steps into the space between his legs and licks his lips.

“It _is_ your fault,” Ryan hisses. He wants to reach for Shane but he restrains himself, barely. “What’re you gonna do to make it up to me?”

Shane drops to his knees with a heavy thud and a wince. His hands lay across Ryan’s thighs and take up a frankly absurd amount of space. He leans in and his hot breath ghosts over Ryan’s begging cock. He brushes his lips over the leaking tip; the friction of Shane’s mouth over the cotton of Ryan’s sweats has his hips jumping. Shane’s hands shift from his thighs to his hips and hold him down. Ryan whines again and reaches out to tangle a hand in Shane’s hair.

Shane kisses the tip of his dick, smirking as he murmurs—

“I’ve got a couple ideas.”


End file.
